Asylum
by RedQ
Summary: "You became so preoccupied with proving the impossible that you started to see it in the most unlikely of places. You saw it in yourself." Barry shook his head. "That's not true," he said stubbornly, "I'm the Flash. I know I am."
1. Relapse

**Disclaimer: Based loosely off the episode "Labyrinth" from Smallville.**

 **Important: This takes place at the end of season 2, right after Zoom's defeat and before Flashpoint.**

* * *

 **Relapse**

* * *

The first thing Barry became aware of as he emerged into consciousness was the nauseating, harsh smell offending his senses. It was a blend of antiseptic, linen, and just a slight hint of stale urine. It smelled like…a hospital.

Barry's eyes snapped open.

This was definitely not the medical bay at STAR Labs. He sat up in bed with a groan and blearily looked around the small room. It looked like a hospital room of some sort, minus all the equipment. Really, all there was in the room was a twin bed and a small dresser, and everything seemed to be white and very clean.

"What the hell?" Barry muttered when he looked down and saw that he was wearing a set of what looked like white scrubs.

Where the hell was he?!

On the verge of panic, Barry quickly stood up and walked over to the large, metal door of the room. When he tried the handle, he quickly realized the door was locked. Barry's heart immediately started to race. Then he remembered he could just phase right through it.

He took a few steps back and then charged at the door. He realized instantly that something wasn't right. He was moving way too slow, and it didn't feel like he was vibrating. He had only a second of confusion as he realized this before he made impact, slamming _hard_ into the door.

He couldn't phase!

Barry held up his hand and tried to vibrate it. It shook lamely at a normal speed. He didn't know how, but his powers were gone. Barry started to hyperventilate. He was in a strange place he didn't know, and he didn't have his speed.

His attention was drawn away from his panic when suddenly, a soft murmuring sound reached his ears. Someone was talking just outside the door. It was then that Barry realized there was a small window on the door, at eye level. It was tiny, about the size of an envelope, but he could see through it.

Looking through the small opening, Barry could see down a hallway of some sort. This room seemed to be on the end of it, so he could see down the entire hall, which seemed to bend and continue off somewhere to his right. There were other doors lining the hallway, all of them having the same opening in them as this one.

He couldn't see the people who were talking, but he could hear them. They must have been standing off to the side of his door, where the hallway bent and continued. Barry strained his ears to hear what the masculine voice was saying.

"…seems to have had a significant regression in his recovery. Judging by what he said in group therapy yesterday, Mr. Allen has had a complete and total relapse."

"It's such a shame," he heard a woman reply, "He was doing so well. I thought he was getting better."

The voices faded then as the people walked away from the door.

Relapse? What did _that_ mean? What was he doing here? Was he sick? Why couldn't he remember anything? Why did he no longer have his powers?

What the hell was going on here?!

"Hey!" Barry shouted through the opening, "Can anyone hear me?! What's going on?! Where am I?!"

There was no reply.

"Somebody please tell me what's going on!" Barry demanded angrily, "Why am I here?! What did you people _do_ to me?!"

They must have done something to remove his powers. Whoever these people were, they seemed to have somehow abducted him and removed his speed from him. He didn't know why they were keeping him here, but the reason for it couldn't be anything good.

Suddenly, someone appeared in the window in front of him, no doubt having heard his shouts.

"Hello, Mr. Allen."

"Harry?" Barry said, confused.

"I usually prefer Dr. Wells," he said calmly, "But you can call me Harry if that makes you more comfortable, Barry."

"Harry, what the hell is going on here?!" Barry asked in confusion, "Where am I?"

"Please, try to calm down, Mr. Allen," Harry said in a calming voice, "Everything's fine. You're at the Renfrew Rehabilitation Center."

"Renfrew Rehabilitation Center?" Barry asked in confusion, "What the hell is _that_?"

Harry sighed.

"It's a small branch of the larger Arkham facilities," he replied.

"Arkham?" Barry asked, his throat dry, "As in Arkham _Asylum_?!"

Harry nodded.

"What the hell is going on, Harry?!" Barry demanded.

He needed answers _now_. Why on earth was Harry acting so calm? Was he in on it? Had he betrayed Barry again? After everything?!

Harry gave Barry a sad look.

"You're going through a relapse, Mr. Allen," he told him gently, "You're suffering from memory loss. I'm not surprised your time with us here has escaped your memory."

"What do you mean?" Barry asked in confusion, his heart racing, "What do you mean, 'my time here?'"

Harry sighed.

"Mr. Allen, you've been with us at Renfrew for over two years now."

Barry's heart skipped a beat.

"Two years?!" he shouted, "What do you mean I've been here for two years?!"

"Barry, why don't you take some of those deep breaths we talked about?" Harry suggested in a calming voice, "You're getting yourself worked up."

"Of course, I'm fucking worked up!" Barry yelled, "What you're telling me isn't making any sense! Why am I in an _asylum_?! I'm not insane!"

Harry sighed heavily.

"Mr. Allen, we've _talked_ about this," he said with a hint of impatience, "Denying your condition isn't going to help you recover. The first step is acceptance."

"What do you mean 'my condition?'" Barry demanded, " _What_ condition?"

Harry sighed again.

"Your schizophrenia, Barry."


	2. Betrayal

**Betrayal**

* * *

Barry sat in the cheap plastic chair they had forced him into. A bunch of chairs were all arranged in a circle in a large, bright room that seemed to be some kind of lounge. The other men who were occupying the chairs were also wearing white scrubs like Barry's.

They were all patients here.

Barry's eyes flitted about the room, scoping out an exit. He was playing along for now, but the first opportunity he got, he was going to make a run for it—speed or no speed. He had to get out of here so he could find out what was really going on. If he could just get out of this facility and make it to STAR Labs, Cisco and Caitlin would help him figure things out. They'd have real answers for him and could help him get his powers back.

The room was white and brightly lit. The sun was filtering in through the windows, giving an illusion of freedom. That illusion, however, was shattered by the fact that there were metal bars on the windows.

"Who would like to start group therapy today?" Har—Dr. Wells asked the group.

A man two seats from Barry's right raised his hand shyly.

"Charlie," Dr. Wells said, his tone sounding somewhat surprised, "You're ready to finally share with us?"

Charlie gulped and shook his head frantically, his hair flopping into his eyes.

"Actually, I was going to say that I wanted to hear the rest of _Barry's_ story," he said shyly.

He leaned forward in his chair then and looked at Barry.

"So what happened when you got to Earth 2?" he asked Barry eagerly, "What did you see when you got there?"

Barry stared at him. Before he could even say anything, another person spoke up.

"Probably another _metaperson_ ," a man said sarcastically, laughing at Barry.

"Or maybe it was another giant, telepathic gorilla," another patient jeered.

"No, it was King Stingray," a man with bright red hair hooted.

All the patients sitting in the circle burst out laughing. One man slid out of his seat and rolled onto the floor, laughing manically as he banged his fist on the floor.

"That's enough, everyone!" Dr. Wells called out over the laughter, which then quickly subsided, "Remember the rules of the circle. We don't make fun of each other here. Everyone here has their own story to tell, and we're all here to listen."

"I _like_ Barry's stories," Charlie squeaked shyly, "They sound like they could be a movie or a TV show or something."

"Yeah, Barry should write a book or something," one man agreed, "It'd probably be a best seller."

"Yeah, if people wanted to read something written by a _nut job_ ," the man with red hair sneered, rolling his eyes.

"That's enough, Gerome," Wells said, flashing his eyes warningly.

He looked politely at Barry then.

"Please continue your story where you left off, Barry," he said patiently.

"Yeah," Gerome said, feigning interest, "Tell us, _almighty Flash_. What happened next?"

Everyone looked expectantly at Barry then. Barry stared around at them. If they were trying to trick him into believing he was actually crazy and in a mental institution, then they were all very good actors. They really _did_ seem like a group of insane people. One of them was twitching repeatedly, and one of them was muttering incessantly under his breath.

Maybe they weren't actors. Maybe they really _were_ crazy. Barry knew _he_ wasn't, though. He had been put in this place against his will for some reason. Whoever had put him here was trying to play mind games with him, and Harry was clearly in on it.

"You betrayed me," Barry said, glaring at Dr. Wells, "After everything…you betrayed me _again_."

The doctor sighed and removed his glasses.

"Mr. Allen, I've told you time and time again," he said impatiently, "I'm not 'the Reverse Flash.' My name isn't Eobard Thawne, and I didn't kill your mother, nor did I try to steel your 'speed.' It's common for schizophrenics to villainize their caretakers in their delusions, but I thought we had been making progress with this."

"I'm not schizophrenic!" Barry yelled, rising from his chair.

"You tell him, Flash!" a young man shouted in support, "You tell him! We're not crazy!"

Barry looked closer at the young man. It was Hartley Rathoway.

"Piper?" Barry asked in confusion.

Dr. Wells stood up.

"Mr. Allen, I've asked you several times that you not encourage Mr. Rathoway's Pied Piper delusions," he said seriously, "You've already done this with Mr. Ramon, and you driving him over the edge is why he's in solitary right now."

"You have Cisco here, too?!" Barry shouted angrily, "Where is he?! What did you do to him?!"

"Barry, I know you and Mr. Ramon are friends and have been close ever since you arrived here. I know that this is hard for you, being apart from him, but you know why we needed to separate you two. You were feeding off of each other's delusions."

"I'm not delusional!" Barry shouted, "And neither is Cisco! Why are you doing this, Harry?! Why are you playing these games and keeping us here?!"

"Barry, you and Mr. Ramon are keeping _yourselves_ here," the doctor replied calmly, "The longer you continue to humor these delusions, the harder it's going to be for you to recover. It may be too late for Mr. Ramon now. He's completely lost himself in his 'visions.' But it's not too late for you, Barry. You _can_ achieve recovery. You can get better. All you have to do is let us help you."

"I don't want your _help_!" Barry spat, "I'm not staying here!"

With that, Barry darted for the nearest door, the one he had already determined to be his best chance towards finding an exit. Unfortunately, without his speed, Barry wasn't fast enough, and he soon felt hands grabbing him roughly.

"Let go of me!" he shouted to the hospital workers who had grabbed him.

He fought with all the strength he had and even managed to elbow one of them in the chin, but they maintained their hold on him.

"Who _are_ you people?!" Barry screamed as they wrestled with him, dragging him backwards, "What do you want from me?! Why are you doing this?! I'm not insane! I'm not insane!"

When Barry refused to stop fighting, someone came forward with something in their hand. Barry's heart raced when he saw the flash of a needle.

"NO!" he screamed when the person holding the syringe stepped closer to him, "No! What is that?! Don't! _Please_ don't! NO!"

A small sob escaped Barry's lips as he felt the sharp prick of the needle puncturing his arm. It wasn't long before dizziness overwhelmed him. The room started to spin, and his eyelids drooped against his will as everything went dark.

* * *

When Barry woke up, he was back in his "room" again. He shot upright in bed and looked around him, but there was nobody else there. Still feeling a bit woozy, Barry stumbled over to the door and looked out the small window.

He saw one person standing a little ways down the otherwise empty hall. Barry was shocked when he recognized the man to be _Leonard Snart_ , of all people, and he was wearing…a janitor's uniform? Barry stared at him for a moment before deciding to call out to him.

"Snart," he whispered.

Captain Cold didn't look up at him, though. He just continued mopping the floor.

"Pst!" Barry hissed impatiently, " _Snart_."

That caused him to look up then. Snart gave him a small smile and walked over to the door again.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Barry?" he asked, laughing lightly, "My name isn't 'Snart' or 'Leonard' or ' _Captain Cold._ ' It's Sam."

Snart pointed at the name embroidered into his janitor uniform. It was the same undercover name Barry had used when he and Snart had posed as janitors for the heist they had pulled with Snart's father. Barry was confused at first, but then he understood. Snart was undercover.

"Oh, okay ' _Sam,'_ " Barry said, winking and giving him a small smile.

Snart just stared at him, a slightly confused look on his face as Barry continued to speak.

"So, what's the plan?" Barry whispered urgently, "How are we going to get me out of here?"

Snart gave Barry an uncomfortable look.

"Um," he said awkwardly, "You just continue with your treatments, Barry. I'm sure you'll be out of here soon."

Now it was Barry's turn to be confused.

"You _are_ here to bust me out of here," Barry whispered, "Aren't you?"

Snart shifted uncomfortably.

"Look, Barry," he said slowly, "I know you and I get along a lot better now, and I've forgiven you for all the workplace-theft accusations you made against me, but you know I can't do that."

"What?" Barry asked in confusion.

Snart was really just going to leave him here?! If he wasn't here to bust Barry out, then why on earth was he here?!

Then it occurred to Barry.

"You're in on this, too," he gritted, "You're in on this whole thing, whatever it is, aren't you?"

"Barry," Snart said sadly.

"I thought you were supposed to be one of the _good guys_ now," Barry hissed, "I thought you were supposed to be a hero now, since you left and went off on that time ship."

"Time ship," Snart chuckled, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but really? First I'm Captain Cold, and now I went on a time ship? I have some pretty crazy adventures, don't I?"

"Sam," a voice rang out, and both he and Barry looked over to see Dr. Wells approaching them, "How many times do I have to ask you? Please don't talk to the patients. You know it upsets them."

"Sorry, sir," Snart replied, "I'm going back to my work now."

With that, Snart grabbed his mop, and rolled his janitorial cart down the hall and out of sight. Barry stared after him for a moment, but then his attention was drawn to Dr. Wells when he spoke.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Allen?" he asked kindly.

"How the hell do you _think_ I'm feeling?" Barry spat through the small window, "You're keeping me here against my will. I need some answers _right now_ , Harry."

"Mr. Allen," Dr. Wells sighed, "I've already told you why you're here."

"I'm not schizophrenic!" Barry said angrily, "I'm not insane! I need answers _now_! What do you people really want from me? What's your endgame here? Who's orchestrating this?"

Barry's eyes widened then as a thought occurred to him. It all made sense now.

" _Eiling_ ," Barry gritted, "He put me in here to _study_ me, didn't he? He's always wanted to put me under his microscope."

Dr. Wells sighed.

"Barry, no one is trying to do anything to harm you here," he said calmly, "You're here because you need help."

"You want me to think I'm crazy," Barry gritted, "It's not going to work."

"Barry, you suffer from paranoid schizophrenia," the doctor said seriously, "You have for two years now."

Dr. Wells sighed again, and then he started to explain.

"The trauma that you faced as a child with your mother's death has tormented you for a number of years," he started, "You began looking for a distraction from the pain of it, and you found that distraction in your obsession with the impossible. Unfortunately, the obsession manifested. You became so preoccupied with proving the impossible that you started to see it in the most unlikely of places. You saw it in yourself."

Barry shook his head.

"That's not true," he said stubbornly, "I'm the Flash. I _know_ I am."

The doctor gave him a sad look.

"You've always felt powerless over your father's conviction," he said gently, "And in a world in which you had _no_ power, you decided to give yourself _super_ powers. You convinced yourself that you were this… _Flash_ persona, and you used it as an escape when your real life became too difficult for you to handle."

Barry shook his head the entire time the doctor was speaking.

"That's not true," he persisted, "I _am_ the Flash. Your tricks won't work on me, Dr. Wells."

Dr. Wells sighed.

"What do you think is more likely, Barry?" he asked quietly, "That you were struck by lightning and dark matter and became a superhero, or that you really _are_ sick and conjured up the whole thing in your head?"

Barry stared at him.

"That can't be true," he said quietly, "I…I'm not crazy. I _couldn't_ have imagined the whole thing. Whatever you're trying to do, it's not going to work."

A heavy sigh escaped the doctor's lips.

"An active imagination isn't a bad thing, Barry," he said sympathetically, "But when things in your life became too much for you, you slipped permanently into your fantasy."

Barry faltered in his conviction for a moment, starting to consider the doctor's words, but then he shook his head stubbornly.

"If you're going to play mind games, you're going to have to try harder, _doctor_."

"This isn't a _game,_ Barry," Dr. Wells said seriously, "This is your _life_ , and you're throwing it away for a delusion. You're slipping, and your condition is getting worse. It's not too late, though. The good news is, I just developed a new treatment. I can cure you, Mr. Allen."

Barry glared at him.

"You can tell Eiling," he gritted, "That I don't buy it. I don't buy _any_ of it."

Dr. Wells sighed and took a step back from the door.

"General Eiling isn't your enemy, Barry," he said sadly, "He doesn't even exist. You've wasted over two years of your life as a resident at Renfrew. I'm offering you an opportunity to not waste any more."

With that, the doctor turned and started to walk away from the door, but he paused then and looked back at Barry, a sad expression on his face.

"Think about it, Barry," he said quietly, " _Really_ think about it."

Dr. Wells then turned back around and continued the rest of the way down the hall. Barry made a noise of frustration and turned away from the door to cross the small room, pacing back and forth.

He couldn't let them get to him. They were trying to mess with him, and he wasn't going to let them. He couldn't be insane. He couldn't be!

Barry was the Flash, and he knew it. He had been the Flash for two years! He couldn't have imagined all of that. He couldn't be insane.

* * *

As Barry waited in line for meds, he was thinking frantically how he could avoid taking them. He thought about simply refusing them, but he had a feeling they would just inject them into him against his will instead then, just like they had done that morning. Maybe he could just hide them under his tongue and spit them out when they weren't looking.

He knew one thing, though; whatever pills they were trying to drug him with, he wasn't going to swallow them. Barry was still thinking frantically about what he was going to do to get out of this when he finally reached the front of the line for the window where they were passing out meds. He was shocked when he looked up and saw who it was who was handing them out.

"C-Caitlin?" he choked.

Caitlin smiled warmly at him.

"I have your meds right here, Barry," she said kindly, placing a little plastic medicine cup in front of him.

It had four small pills in it, all different colors. Barry hardly looked at the cup, though. He was too busy staring at Caitlin, who was wearing scrubs, with a nametag pinned to the front.

 **Caitlin Snow**  
 **Psych RN**  
 **Renfrew Health and Rehabilitation**

"I need you to take them in front of me," she said, giving him a warm smile.

Barry goggled at her.

"Caitlin, what are you _doing_ here?" he asked in confusion, "You can't possibly be in on this, too."

Dr. Wells suddenly approached the counter and stood next to Barry.

"Is there a problem here, Mr. Allen?" he asked.

Barry looked back and forth between the two of them in disbelief, his mind going a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Barry, please take your meds," Dr. Wells said calmly, a hint of warning in his voice, "There's nothing to fear. You can trust Caitlin. She's always been your favorite nurse. And they'll help you sleep tonight. You want to be well-rested when Joe and Iris come to visit you tomorrow, don't you?"

Barry goggled at him.

"This isn't right," he muttered to himself, "This…this is all wrong."

Caitlin would never do this. She would never betray him like this. Snart and Harry, he could believe, but Caitlin? Never.

Unless she was just playing along. Maybe, unlike Snart, she actually _was_ undercover to sneak him out of here. Or maybe she was here against her will, too. Barry really hoped it was the former and that someone wasn't _making_ her do this.

"Mr. Allen, are we going to have a problem?" Dr. Wells asked, peering seriously at Barry over his glasses.

Barry shook his head. He didn't want to cause problems for Caitlin if she really _was_ here to bust him out. He would play along like she was.

Barry sighed and picked up the medication cup. He looked at it for a moment before emptying it into his mouth. He quickly shifted the pills under his tongue then and took a few sips from the paper cup of water that Caitlin handed him.

"Can you open your mouth please, Barry?" Caitlin asked kindly.

His heartrate picked up. He should have known that they were going to check to make sure he had swallowed the pills. Barry hesitantly opened his mouth and Caitlin shined a light in it. When she asked him to lift his tongue, Barry's heartrate doubled.

This was good, though, he thought suddenly. This was a good opportunity to see if Caitlin was really on his side. If she was, then she would see the pills and not say anything to Dr. Wells, who was still standing right there next to Barry.

Barry lifted his tongue and let her see them.

Caitlin sighed and handed him the cup of water then.

"Please, swallow them, Barry," she said seriously.

Barry's heart sank. He couldn't believe it. Caitlin was in on it. The despair he felt over this revelation felt like it was crushing his heart. Barry didn't let it consume him, though. Instead, he let his anger replace it.

Barry spit the pills out into his hand and threw them across the room where they scattered all over the floor.

"No," he said angrily, glaring at Caitlin.

Her eyes widened, as if she was shocked that he hadn't complied.

Dr. Wells sighed then and signaled a couple of other staff members to come over, two big men wearing scrubs. Without a word, they grabbed Barry, who started to fight them instantly.

"What are you doing?!" he yelled furiously.

One of the men grabbed Barry's arm and extended it out, exposing the inner crook of his elbow as he forced it down on the counter.

"NO!" Barry screamed when Caitlin stepped forward with a syringe.

Barry fought with all his strength, but the man held his arm in place as Caitlin injected the medication into the vein in the crook of Barry's elbow. Barry let out a broken sob.

It was so much worse the second time around because this time, it was Caitlin wielding the syringe.


	3. Visitors

**Visitors**

* * *

Barry sat on the hard, uncomfortable bed and stared at his knees. He had been up since the early hours of the morning, thinking. He still couldn't believe it. Caitlin had betrayed him. If she had been undercover or even here against her will, she would have lied about the pills. She would have pretended she hadn't seen them in his mouth.

Caitlin had really betrayed him. What Barry didn't understand was _why_?

Barry suddenly heard the clicking sound of the door to his room being unlocked, but he didn't look up as the doctor walked in. He just stared at his knees. He didn't have the energy to fight, not with how devastated and miserable he was feeling.

"You look tired, Barry," Dr. Wells observed, "Didn't sleep well?"

Barry glared up at him.

"How well would _you_ sleep?" he asked bitterly, "If people you once trusted were holding you prisoner against your will and trying to make you think you were insane?"

Dr. Wells sighed and stepped further into the room.

"Barry, I understand your confusion," he said sympathetically, "I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you, but you need to come to terms with this eventually."

Barry didn't say anything. He just glared up at him.

"You're not the Flash, Barry," Dr. Wells said gently as he walked towards Barry's dresser and opened a drawer, pulling something out.

Barry watched him curiously as he then held the item up for him to see. It was a newspaper. Barry stared at the headline.

FLASH-FLOODS DESTROY LOCAL ROADS AND HIGHWAYS

ZOLOMAN ROAD CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION

He was still staring at it as Dr. Wells started to speak.

"When the human mind endures intense emotional pain, like the trauma you endured with your mother's murder, it has no choice but to protect itself," he explained, "You've taken bits and pieces from your surroundings and used them to create your own fantasy world where you feel safe and secure—a world in which you have superpowers."

Barry stared at the newspaper for a moment longer before looking back at the doctor.

"I know who I am," he said quietly.

His voice didn't have the same confidence it normally had, though.

"I'm not sure you do," Wells said sadly, "You're not the Flash, Barry. You're Barry Allen, and you're a bright, young crime scene investigator who has unfortunately lost touch with reality for a little while. We can change that, though. I can give you your life back, back to the way it was before all of this happened to you. You can get better, Barry. You can still live a happy, normal life."

Dr. Wells walked back to the door.

"It's up to you, Barry," he said quietly before exiting and closing the door behind him.

Barry sat there in numb shock for a few minutes, but then he quickly stood up and crossed the room to his dresser. He opened the top drawer and dug through its contents. He pulled out several magazines and newspapers he found in it and stared at them, his mouth dry.

GREEN ARROW PARK: THE NEW VACATION HOTSPOT!

RAINBOW RAIDER AMUSEMENT RIDE CONSTRUCTION NOW COMPLETE

EOBARD THE ELEPHANT ENCHANTS ZOO PATRONS

METABOLITE VITAMINS RECALLED BY FDA FOR ADVERSE HEALTH EFFECTS

WALLACE WESTON WINS NASCAR RACE

Barry didn't even realize he had tears rolling down his face until he had set the papers aside.

"I know who I am," he whispered brokenly.

* * *

Barry was sullen and quiet as they led him to his therapist's office for his weekly therapy session. He didn't fight or argue. He just let them lead him down the hall to the small office. He didn't know what to believe anymore. Nothing made sense. A small part of him was actually starting to believe he might actually be crazy.

"Your therapist will be right in," the attendant said to him as Barry sat down on the couch in the small office, "And Dr. Wells wanted me to remind you about the sexual harassment discussion he had with you last week."

As the man exited the small office, Barry stared after him in confusion. Sexual harassment? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Barry was shocked when the therapist entered the room.

"Patty?!" he said in disbelief.

"Hello, Barry," she said kindly, smiling warmly at him as she took a seat in the arm chair next to the couch he was sitting on.

Barry looked at the nametag clipped to Patty's jacket.

 **Dr. Patricia Spivot, PhD.**

"Eyes up, Barry," Patty said gently, blushing slightly.

Barry looked at her in confusion at first, and then he realized. She thought he was staring at her _chest_! The sexual harassment comment floated up in his mind, and Barry blushed.

"I understand you're having a tough week," Patty said sympathetically, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Barry let out a heavy sigh and leaned forward in his seat, burying his face in his hands. He didn't know what to think anymore.

"It's okay, Barry," Patty assured him soothingly, "Relapses happen. We've gotten through this before, and we'll get through it now."

"This is really happening," he said quietly to himself, "It's all true. I _am_ crazy."

"Barry, we've discussed this already," she said sadly, "You don't have to use that label for yourself. You have a legitimate medical condition, and you're here to get help for it. You're going to get better, Barry."

Barry looked up at her then, his eyes swimming.

"We never dated," he said quietly, "Did we?"

Patty's cheeks tinted pink as she shook her head sadly.

"It's okay, Barry," she assured him, "You're not the first patient to mistake me for their girlfriend, and you've always been very sweet and respectful about your misplaced affection. I've had much worse."

Barry's face burned as he wiped a tear from his cheek.

"My condition," he said quietly, swallowing back the lump in his throat, "How…how did it start?"

Patty gave him a sad, sympathetic look.

"It started fairly slowly," Pat—Dr. Spivot began, "It came on gradually at first. Your adoptive family, Joe and Iris, started to become more and more concerned for you over time. Your fascination with the impossible was growing into an obsession."

Patty surveyed his face as she explained, but Barry wasn't looking at her. He was looking down at his lap as he listened to her speak.

"It started with your CSI work," she said gently, "You started claiming that the evidence at crime scenes was caused by supernatural means. Everything escalated then when you made your trip to Starling. Your condition worsened drastically while you were away. When you returned, you started speaking of some imaginary vigilante that you had met there. Later that night, one of your coworkers found you in your lab, having a nervous breakdown. You were admitted to Renfrew Rehab Center three days later, where you remained in a near-catatonic state for nearly nine months. When you came out of it, your full psychological delusion finally presented itself. We've been working with you to overcome it ever since."

Barry's lip trembled when she finished, and tears quickly started streaming down his face.

"I can't believe this is my life," he said brokenly, staring at his hands in his lap, "I can't believe this is happening."

Patty reached out and placed a hand on his knee.

"It's okay, Barry," she soothed, "I'm going to help you through this. You're going to get better, and you're going to go back to living a healthy, happy life."

Barry nodded and wiped his face.

"Thank you, Dr. Spivot."

* * *

Barry stared at the blank, white canvas in front of him, hardly seeing it. His mind felt as blank as the canvas. He couldn't think anymore. He was just numb with shock.

Everything he thought he knew was wrong. Patty had explained things to him. There was no STAR Labs, no particle accelerator explosion. There was no such thing as superheroes or metahumans. Oliver Queen was no longer with the living. He had never been found on some island. He had gone down with the Queen's Gambit. There was no Felicity Smoak, no John Diggle or Ray Palmer. No Martin Stein. No Jefferson Jackson.

No Flash.

"Are you going to paint something, Barry?" the activities director, Linda, asked kindly.

Barry looked up at the woman whom he had thought was his ex-girlfriend and shook his head. Linda looked disappointed.

"You normally participate in activities, though. Just last week you painted a beautiful picture of a gorilla. Why don't you paint a different animal today?" she suggested.

Tears filled Barry's eyes as he shook his head again.

"Do you want to call it quits for today?" Linda asked gently.

Barry nodded weakly.

He couldn't stand the way she was talking to him. It was like he was a little kid or something. That's what he _was_ to her, though, he thought bitterly. He was just a little lost puppy for her to take care of.

Linda nodded and gave him space then, walking away from him to praise Hartley for the painting he was working on. Barry wiped the tears from his face after she had walked away.

He didn't know what to do, didn't know where to go from here. How was he supposed to just continue with this life now? He was just supposed to live here now? Doing finger paintings and standing in medication lines? If this was his life, then Barry preferred the delusion.

Linda returned only a few moments after she had walked away from him. She was smiling widely at him.

"I have something that will cheer you up, Barry," she said cheerfully, "Joe and Iris are here to see you."

Barry perked up at those words.

"Joe and Iris?" he asked hopefully.

Linda nodded.

"Ron will escort you to your room," she said, "They're waiting for you there."

Barry quickly stood up from his seat, his heart leaping in his chest. Joe and Iris were here. It was the only thing that could have possibly lifted his mood. He desperately needed to see a familiar face, one that wasn't Ronnie Raymond, wearing scrubs and escorting him back to his room.

When they reached the room, Barry rushed through the doorway. Joe and Iris were really there. He burst into tears at the sight of them. It was almost strange to see people who weren't wearing scrubs of some kind. Even he, himself, was still wearing his white patient scrubs. He felt slightly embarrassed to have Joe and Iris see him this way.

But that embarrassment was forgotten when Iris rushed forward to hug him.

"Barry," she said happily, wrapping her arms around him, "I've missed you."

Barry squeezed her as tight as he could without hurting her. He buried his face into her neck, letting the familiar smell of her shampoo lift his spirits as he cried into her shoulder.

"Iris," he whispered, "Thank God you're here."

Iris pulled away from the hug and gave him a watery smile. There was a shadow of guilt in her features as she smiled at him. Joe stepped forward and hugged him then.

"I'm so sorry we waited so long to visit this time, Bar," he said sadly as he embraced him.

When they pulled apart, Joe started to explain.

"It's just such a long drive to Starling, and we've been so busy," he said quickly, "I'm so sorry we waited this long. Dr. Wells told me you weren't doing very well now, and I feel like it's partly our fault for not visiting sooner."

"It's okay," Barry said, giving him a watery smile, "You're here now. That's all that matters."

"How are you doing, Barry?" Iris asked worriedly, "Are you okay?"

"I'm…"

Barry didn't know what to say. Out of habit, he was going to say he was fine, but he was so far from fine right now. There were no words for all the emotions he was trying to process at the moment.

"I'm just adjusting yet," he said quietly, "It's a lot to take in, finding out that I'm in a mental institution."

Joe and Iris both looked at each other.

"Bar," Joe said quietly, giving him a nervous look, "You've been here for two years."

"I know," Barry said sadly, "But to me, it feels like I just got here. It's a lot to wrap my head around."

Joe and Iris exchanged another look.

"Dr. Wells told us you relapsed," Iris said sadly, "But I didn't know it was this bad. Just last week you were telling us you were almost ready to go home."

Barry took a shaky breath.

"Apparently, this isn't the first time I relapsed," he said quietly, "Is that true?"

Joe nodded sadly.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "It's true. This would be your seventh relapse now."

Barry's heart sank as he took in this information.

"I'm never going to get better, am I?" he asked quietly, tears in his eyes.

"Oh, Bar," Iris said, moving forward to hug him again, "Don't say that. You're going to get better. I know you will. We have faith in you, Barry."

Barry sniffed and pulled out of the hug then. He looked at both of them with watery eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed, "I'm so sorry for all of this. I don't know how this happened."

"Please don't apologize, Bar," Joe said brokenly, "You don't have to ever be sorry for this. We know it's not your fault. If anything, I blame myself. I'm a cop. I should have recognized the signs sooner."

This didn't make Barry feel any better, though. He put his face in his hands, and couldn't hold back his sobs any longer. He completely broke down.

"Barry," Iris said, her heart breaking as she put a hand on his shoulder.

"I can't believe this is happening," he sobbed into his hands, his voice cracking, "I'm so _embarrassed_! How did this happen? How did I _let_ this happen?"

"Barry," Joe said, stepping over to stand right in front of him, "Barry, look at me."

Barry tearfully lifted his face from his hands to look at Joe.

"This isn't your fault," Joe said firmly, and Barry could tell by the way he said it that it was something Joe had said to him a million times.

"You've been through so much in your life, Bar," Joe choked, "But you survived through all of it. You're a survivor, Barry, a fighter, and you can fight this now."

"I don't know if I can," Barry said brokenly, "I'm so confused, Joe. Nothing makes sense anymore."

"It will, Barry," Iris said, her voice cracking as tears ran down her face, "The doctors are going to cure you. You're going to be our Barry again. You _will_."

Barry buried his face in his hands again as he sobbed.

"Why did this happen to me?"


	4. Vibe

**Vibe**

* * *

Barry was numb as he stood in line for his meds. Joe and Iris had spent a good portion of the day with him, and it had been a comfort to him for a while, but now that they had left again, Barry was left feeling empty and broken.

"Here you go, Barry," Caitlin said kindly, flashing him a warm smile as she handed him his meds.

"Thanks, Cait," he managed to choke out as he took the cup from her.

He didn't hesitate to throw back the pills, chasing them down with water. He just hoped they'd make him better. He wasn't extremely hopeful, though. He had probably been taking them for the last two years, and they clearly hadn't done anything to help.

Seeing Joe and Iris made Barry forget all about his wish to slip back into his fantasy. Sure, that life was easier. It wasn't real, though. He couldn't escape into it anymore. He wanted a happy, normal life that was _real_. He wanted to be with his loved ones in _this_ life. In reality.

"Barry," an urgent voice suddenly said from behind him as he was walking back towards his room.

Barry turned around.

"Cisco?!" he said in shock.

Cisco rushed over to him and grabbed his arm, pulling him into the corner of the commons area.

"You're not crazy, Barry," he said urgently.

Barry sighed.

"Cisco, I know it's a hard thing to accept, but—"

"No, Barry," Cisco said, cutting him off, "You need to listen to me. You're not crazy. You're—"

Barry jumped when Cisco suddenly flinched and cut off midsentence, his eyes growing wide. That's when Barry saw the man wearing scrubs standing behind Cisco, holding the syringe that he had just injected him with.

A couple other attendants stepped forward and grabbed Cisco when he swayed.

"Please take Mr. Ramon back to his room," Dr. Wells told the men as he approached them.

Barry stared in shock as Cisco was dragged away from him, disappearing down the hallway.

"What the hell was _that_?!" Barry asked, rounding on Dr. Wells.

"I can't allow Mr. Ramon to inhibit the recovery of his fellow patients, Mr. Allen," Dr. Wells said calmly, "I'm already beginning to regret my decision to release him from solitary."

"He was just trying to _talk_ to me," Barry said angrily, "Is that what you _do_ , doctor? Whenever anyone steps out of line, you just drug them?!"

"It was for his own good," Dr. Wells replied calmly, "And for yours, Barry. You shouldn't listen to Cisco. He spews lies and inhibits the progress of every patient he comes in contact with, especially you. His friendship with you is particularly toxic."

"He's my _friend_ ," Barry said angrily, "What? We're not allowed to have _friends_ in here now?!"

"Barry, I strongly urge you to stay away from Mr. Ramon," Dr. Wells said seriously, "I know he's your friend, but your delusions and his tend to feed off each other. When you first got here, I thought the companionship would be good for the two of you, but then I quickly noticed it was growing into an unhealthy and very _dangerous_ friendship. Don't let your loyalty to that friendship ruin all the progress you've made."

"You don't have to worry about that," Barry told him firmly, "I…I know I'm… _mentally ill_ now. I'm not going to let myself relapse again."

"That's not the first time you've said that, Mr. Allen," Wells said gently.

Barry's heart sank.

"You've been here long enough, Barry, that I've noticed the cycle," Dr. Wells said, "Every time you start to make progress, start to _really_ step towards a life of reality again, your friendship with Ramon pulls you back. He wants you to think that _this_ isn't reality and that the two of you need to get back to your 'real' lives. Cisco will say and do anything to get you to believe this is all fake, Barry, and every time— _every_ time—you tell me that you're not going to let yourself relapse again, but then you start to listen to Cisco, and that's exactly what ends up happening."

Barry had tears in his eyes as he listened.

"Maybe things can be different this time," he said quietly, "Maybe, instead of listening to Cisco and letting him cause me to relapse, _I_ can get through to _him._ I can help him come to terms with reality, so he can get better, too."

Dr. Wells gave Barry an uneasy look.

"Look, Barry," he said seriously, "I know you want to help your friend, but I think it would be better if you focused on your _own_ recovery. Let me worry about treating Mr. Ramon. You should focus on yourself right now."

Barry shook his head.

"Cisco is my friend," he said firmly, "I'm not going to just _abandon_ him here."

Dr. Wells sighed.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Barry," he said quietly, "Your mind is a vulnerable thing. Interacting with Ramon is a dangerous thing for you—especially in this fragile relapse period. I hope you're careful."

Barry nodded.

"I will be," he said firmly, "I know who I am now, doctor, and I'm not going to let Cisco make me lose sight of that again."

* * *

Barry laid in his bed, thinking about everything he had imagined had happened over the last two years. It was hard to wrap his head around the fact that none of it was true. All of the people he had met and encountered, all of the friendships and _relationships_ he had formed, they were all an illusion. None of it had been real.

Dr. Wells had said he created the illusion to escape his real life when things became too much for him. Barry thought back to how things were two years ago, before he had gotten "struck by lightning." He tried to think if there had been anything particularly upsetting or stressful going on at that time that could have triggered his breakdown, but he couldn't. Barry hadn't felt stressed out at the time. He had been _happy_. He didn't understand why his mind would choose to retreat into a delusion when his _real_ life was just fine. It wasn't perfect, but it was fine, and he had been happy.

Barry also didn't understand how his delusion of being the Flash was supposed to be a coping mechanism. Dr. Wells had said he had created a happy, imaginary world to escape his real life when things got too hard, but that imaginary world was _far_ from happy a lot of the time. He had suffered a lot in his imaginary life. Things had gone wrong. He had made mistakes. People had died. His _dad_ had died.

Barry bolted upright in bed as if he had been electrocuted.

His dad had died…in his _delusion._ But that meant…

"Oh, my God," Barry said, covering his mouth.

Tears formed in his eyes as his face first broke out in the first smile he had had in days.

"My dad's _alive_ ," he choked, tears of happiness brimming over.

Barry got up out of bed and hurried out the door to his room, which was unlocked this time of day. Well-behaved patients were allowed to freely meander between their rooms and the lounge at will. Those were the only places they were permitted to go, though.

Barry practically ran down the hallway.

"Barry!" a nurse shouted suddenly at him as he passed her, "No running! You're not supposed to _run_!"

He quickly slowed down to a fast walk instead. He supposed that made sense that they would try to discourage him from running. Barry hardly paid it any thought, though, as he rushed to the lounge, looking for the lead doctor.

"Where is Dr. Wells?" Barry asked anxiously to the first nurse he encountered.

"He's in his office," she replied simply, "Did you need something, Barry? Did you want me to page him?"

Barry nodded excitedly.

"Yes," he said quickly, "Please page him. I need to talk to him right away!"

The nurse nodded and walked back to the nurses' station to page the doctor. Barry paced back and forth in the lounge, waiting impatiently for Wells to appear. Despite his impatience, Barry couldn't wipe the smile from his face. His dad was _alive_! As soon as the doctor entered the lounge, Barry rushed over to him.

"You wanted to see me, Barry?" Wells asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"I want to see my dad," Barry said immediately, not beating around the bush.

Dr. Wells sighed and took off his glasses before rubbing his eyes.

"Barry…" he said slowly.

"He _is_ alive, right?" Barry asked nervously.

Dr. Wells nodded, his expression somber.

"I want to see him as soon as possible!" Barry said excitedly, grinning again.

He couldn't believe this. His dad was _alive_! He could speak to his father again. Barry thought this might be the happiest day of his life, and that was saying something, considering he was in a mental institution.

"I'm sorry, Barry," Dr. Wells said, "I can't let you see your dad."

"Why not?" Barry asked angrily, anxiety settling in the pit of his stomach.

"It wouldn't be good for you," Wells said sadly, "I'm afraid it would be too triggering."

"Why?" Barry demanded, "Why on earth would seeing my dad be triggering?!"

Dr. Wells sighed and put his glasses back on.

"I knew we'd have to have this conversation eventually," he muttered sadly.

"What do you mean?" Barry asked, " _What_ conversation?"

"Why don't we go to my office, Barry?" Dr. Wells suggested, looking around the crowded lounge, "This isn't the best place for this discussion."

Barry curiously and impatiently followed Wells all the way to his office. Dr. Wells didn't speak until after he had closed the door and sat down at the other side of the desk from Barry.

"Mr. Allen, I have to tell you something," he started, "And it's not going to be easy for you to hear."

"What?" Barry asked anxiously.

Dr. Wells sighed before continuing.

"You've always been… _imaginative_ , Barry," Wells began, "At the age of eleven, after your mom's death, you began tenaciously claiming that the man in yellow had killed her."

Barry's heart sank as he realized it then; If the man in yellow, the Reverse Flash, didn't exist, then that meant his mother's killer was still out there, and his dad was still in prison. He had only a moment to feel sick over this before Dr. Wells spoke again.

"Your guardian, Detective West, sent you to a number of shrinks over the years," he said.

Barry nodded impatiently. He knew all of this already.

"As you know," Dr. Wells continued, "The therapy didn't help, and your instability progressed, and well…you know how things went from there…What you _don't_ remember, though, is the thing that pushed you over the edge two years ago."

"What do you mean?" Barry asked quickly, "What happened?"

Dr. Wells gave him an uneasy look before speaking in a soft voice.

"Your dad confessed."

Barry's eyes widened, thinking he must have not heard correctly. He _couldn't_ have heard correctly.

"You mean…?" he began to ask, words catching in his throat.

"He confessed to killing your mother," Dr. Wells told him sadly.

Barry shook he head forcefully.

"No," he said in disbelief, still shaking his head, "No. That _can't_ be true!"

"I know this is extremely difficult and traumatic for you to hear, Barry," Dr. Wells said in an understanding voice, "But it _is_ true, and it's what pushed you over the edge two years ago. After spending half your life trying to convince everyone of your dad's innocence, your dad ended up confessing and turned out to be guilty. You were devastated."

"My dad wouldn't…My dad _loved_ my mom!" Barry cried, tears filling his eyes, "He would never hurt her!"

Dr. Wells looked at him with eyes filled with sympathy.

"More details were released shortly after the confession," Wells said slowly, "Your mother…she was supposedly having an affair, Barry."

Barry shook his head.

"I don't believe this," he said brokenly, "I don't believe you!"

"Barry, I thought you trusted me now," Wells said earnestly, "I would never lie to you about something like this."

Barry shook his head again and wiped a few of the tears that were streaming down his face.

"What you're telling me is that my mom was a cheater, and my dad was a _murderer_. I…I can't…"

"I know it's a lot to grasp, Barry," Dr. Wells said sadly, "But please, you have to accept it as the truth. Denial is your worst enemy right now, Barry. Denial leads to delusions. I know this is hard, but you can't run from it anymore."

A sob escaped Barry's lips.

It couldn't be true.

* * *

It wasn't until Joe and Iris visited him again the next day and Joe showed him a video of his dad confessing that Barry finally believed it. Barry didn't leave his room for _days_ after that. It was too much. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. His family and the medical staff were all extremely concerned about him, worrying that he was going to start retreating back into his mind again, back into his fantasy world.

But Barry didn't try to go back there. He didn't know what was worse: a world in which his dad was dead or one where he was a murderer. Probably the latter. Still, though, Barry wasn't going to let this ruin his life anymore. He had wasted enough of his life for his delusions.

Every now and then, Barry's sadness was replaced by anger. This was all his _dad's_ fault. What his father had done had always been at the root of Barry's insanity, starting when he was eleven. Barry felt sick to his stomach when he realized that he probably _had_ watched his father murder his mother that night. All the shrinks had been right. Barry had witnessed the murder, and his young mind had snapped, replacing the memory with the man in yellow.

And it was all downhill from there.

If it weren't for his dad, Barry wouldn't have been obsessed with the impossible in the first place, and if it weren't for his dad's belated confession, Barry wouldn't have snapped and wasted two years of his life here. The anger that consumed Barry now was almost maddening in itself.

"Barry," he heard someone whisper urgently, "Pst! Barry!"

"Cisco?" Barry asked, rising from his bed and walking over to the door to see Cisco peering inside through the window.

"Barry, you need to listen to me quick," Cisco said urgently, "You're not—"

"Dr. Wells told me not to listen to you," Barry said painfully.

"You shouldn't trust Dr. Wells," Cisco said seriously, "You can't let him win. You're not _insane_ , Barry."

"You're just as insane as I am," Barry sighed, "I'm sorry, Cisco, but I can't deny it any longer, and neither should you. It was all just a delusion."

"Barry, _this_ is the delusion!" Cisco insisted, "None of this is _real_! A metahuman got to you. He's inside your head and trying to make you think you're insane."

Barry's eyes widened for a moment as he considered Cisco's words, but then he shook his head.

"Dr. Wells told me you would say anything and everything to get me to believe I'm not crazy," he said painfully, "But I can't let it work, Cisco. I need to get _better_. I can't stay in a Flash fantasy world anymore. I need to get back to my _real_ life."

"Barry, that _is_ your real life!" Cisco said desperately, "Your life as the Flash, with Caitlin and me, working as a team at STAR Labs, _that's_ your life, Barry. Not this!"

Barry faltered slightly as he looked at Cisco. He was so torn between what he _wanted_ to believe and what he _should_ believe.

"I want so badly to believe you, Cisco," Barry choked, "But I can't. Not anymore."

"You're going to believe this fake Dr. Wells over me?" Cisco asked in a hurt voice.

"Cisco," Barry said, his voice cracking painfully, "I have been and always shall be your friend, but I can't allow this friendship to inhibit my recovery anymore. It's time for me to finally get better. I can't let you pull me into the delusion again. I _can't_ relapse again. I don't want to waste any more of my life here. I've wasted enough already."

"Barry, this is all _fake_!" Cisco said desperately, "You're not really in an asylum right now. You're lying unconscious in a bed in STAR Labs. We've been trying to wake you up for _days_ , trying to get through to you. I managed to finally vibe my way into your dream, but the metahuman keeps trying to prevent me from talking to you."

As if right on cue, somebody suddenly grabbed Cisco from behind, and Cisco was soon wrestling with two attendants as he tried desperately to escape their grasp.

"Please escort Mr. Ramon back to his room," Dr. Wells instructed them.

Cisco fought the men holding him furiously, but they controlled him easily.

"It's not real!" Cisco shouted as they dragged him down the hall, away from Barry, "Barry, don't listen to anything he says! It's not real! You know who you _are_ , Barry!"

Barry watched as Cisco was dragged the rest of the way down the hall and out of sight.

"Don't let your conviction waiver now, Barry," Dr. Wells said cautiously once Cisco was gone, "You can't let doubt creep into your mind. I told you Mr. Ramon would say anything to get you to doubt yourself again. He's convinced that this isn't reality, so he made up a story in his head to explain why he's here. Don't let it work on you."

Barry sighed and nodded.

"I won't," he said quietly, even if it pained him to say it.

It was so hard not to believe Cisco. Barry wanted so badly to believe it, but he couldn't. As Dr. Wells had put it on his first day here; what was more likely? That he was a crime fighting superhero with superspeed? Or that he was insane?

The more Barry thought about his life as the Flash, the more ridiculous the whole thing seemed. Shark men? Time travel and other earths? Telepathic Gorillas? The whole thing had felt so real at the time, but the longer Barry remained in reality, the more the whole thing seemed like one long, ridiculous dream. He felt stupid for even believing it for so long.

"Have you given my suggestion any thought, Barry?" Dr. Wells asked him, breaking his train of thought, "About my new electrotherapy treatment?"

Barry looked at him, his expression serious, and nodded.

"I'll do it," he said firmly, "I'll do the treatment. _Cure me_ , doctor."


	5. Treatment

**Treatment**

* * *

"It's time, Mr. Allen," Ronnie said, coming into his room, "I'll take you to the lab. Dr. Wells and your family are all in there now, waiting for you."

Barry nodded shakily. He was extremely nervous. He was about to let the doctor do electroshock therapy on him, which was a _very_ risky procedure. He was surprised it was even still used today. It seemed so barbaric to him. Although the procedure was a lot safer now than it used to be, it was still risky. The therapy was used to intentionally cause a _seizure_ , after all. There were still so many things that could go wrong.

There was a chance that it could accidentally fry his brain and leave him a vegetable for the rest of his life, but Barry decided that the risk was worth it if there was a chance he could get better. He had relapsed _seven_ times over the last two years at Renfrew. He wasn't going to let himself relapse again. It was time to finally get better— _permanently_ this time.

"Barry, don't!" someone shouted suddenly.

Barry looked over and realized he and Ronnie were walking right past Cisco's cell, and Cisco was shouting at him through the window in his door.

"Barry, don't do the treatment!" Cisco screamed at him as they passed, "Don't do it! If you do, the metahuman wins! You'll never wake up!"

"I'm sorry, Cisco," Barry said sadly, "I promise, I'll come back and visit you once I'm better."

"NO!" Cisco's voice echoed down the hallway after them, "Barry, STOP!"

Cisco's shouts eventually faded as they made some distance from his room. Barry felt bad for his friend. He wished he could just help Cisco see the truth like _he_ had. He wished Cisco could get better, too, but the way Dr. Wells made it sound, Cisco was too far gone. He would probably spend the rest of his life here.

But Barry wouldn't.

Barry was determined _not_ to. He was going to go back to his life. Well, as best he could. He wouldn't have a job at the CCPD anymore, and Singh couldn't hire him back even if he wanted to. There was no way they could allow a certifiably insane person—even a recovered one—to work in law enforcement. Barry would start fresh, though. He would find a new job, something in science. He would go home and be with Joe and Iris, as a family again.

Iris gave Barry a nervous smile as he entered the lab for his treatment. Her hands were shaking, and Barry could tell that she was just as nervous as he was. Joe didn't look much better, but both of them were smiling nonetheless.

"I'm so glad you're finally agreeing to do this, Bar," Joe said happily, hugging Barry.

"It's time," Barry said with a small smile, "I can't run from reality anymore."

Barry laughed then.

"Get it?" he asked, " _Run_?"

Joe and Iris chuckled.

"I'm glad this place hasn't robbed you of your sense of humor, Bar," Iris said, "You're still our Barry Allen."

Barry smiled and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"I _will_ be," he whispered.

"Are you ready, Mr. Allen?" Dr. Wells asked then.

Barry swallowed and nodded.

"Alright," Dr. Wells said, "If you could just lay down on the table then, Barry."

Barry nodded and walked over to the table. He looked nervously at the restraints that were attached to it, but he swallowed back his fear and laid down on it anyways.

Iris walked over and grabbed his hand, giving it a small squeeze.

"It will all be over soon, Barry," she said quietly.

Barry nodded and wiped a tear from his face with his free hand. This had to work. This was about more than just him and his life. It was about his family. Even if Barry in some ways preferred his fake life as the Flash, he couldn't escape into anymore if it meant leaving his _real_ family behind. He had to get better. He had to recover for them.

 _Don't do it_

Barry looked up at Iris again, having heard the words in her voice. Iris wasn't speaking, though. She was still looking down at him, giving him a watery smile.

 _Please Barry, don't do it! You know who you are! You're the Flash, Barry._

Barry squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He tried to block out the fake Iris voice in his head. He couldn't let his mind play any more tricks on him anymore. Iris wasn't really talking to him. He just imagined that she was.

 _The Flash is_ real _, Barry. You're the Flash. You_ know _who you are!_

Barry took a deep breath as the electrodes were placed on each side of his head, against his temples. He squeezed Iris's hand in fear, still hearing her voice talking to him in his head. She was standing right next to him, but she wasn't really speaking. The real Iris was standing next to him. Something about the voice in his head felt so real, though. It didn't feel like it was just in his head…

 _Please, Barry…come home to me, to the_ real _me._

Barry's eyes snapped open. It was her. He didn't know _how_ he knew. He just did.

"I know who I am," he said quietly.

"What, Barry?" Iris asked worriedly.

Barry glared at her.

"You're not Iris!" he said angrily, "None of this is real! I'm not really here right now, am I? This is all fake! I know it is! I _know_ who I am!"

Barry yanked his hand away from hers, and he wrenched his other arm away from the attendant who was trying to restrain it to the table.

"Easy, Bar," Joe said, putting a hand on Barry's chest to keep him in place, "It's alright. You're just having one of your episodes right now. Everything will be better after the treatment."

"Don't _touch_ me!" Barry yelled, shoving the fake Joe's hand off of him.

He swung his legs off the table and quickly stood up. The attendant rushed forward, but Barry punched him square in the face, sending him sprawling back. And then Barry rushed at Dr. Wells, wrapping his hands around the doctor's throat.

"Barry!" Joe shouted, "Stop!"

Joe attempted to pull Barry off the doctor, but Barry released one of his hands from the doctor's throat and elbowed Joe in the face _hard_ before his hand returned to Harrison Wells' throat.

"I know who I am!" Barry shouted at him, "I'm the Flash! I know who I am!"

Dr. Wells struggled to suck in a breath, and he raised a hand to try to pry Barry's hands from his neck. Barry just squeezed tighter.

" _Get out of my mind_ ," Barry growled, squeezing the doctor's throat as hard as he could.

The eyes of Harrison Wells suddenly turned black, and the edges around Barry's vision started to blur, the fake world around him started to falter and fade. The next thing Barry knew, it felt like he was being pulled backwards through a tunnel.

* * *

Barry's eyes snapped open, and he shot up in bed.

"Barry!" Iris cried, wrapping her arms around him.

Barry sat there in shock, breathing heavily as he looked around the room, over Iris's shoulder. He was in the STAR Labs med bay, surrounded by his friends and family, who all had looks of immense relief on their faces.

As soon as Barry realized this, he responded to Iris's hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her in return.

"Iris," he sobbed, "Iris, I'm back. I'm home."

When Barry and Iris pulled apart, Joe hugged him next.

"I thought we had lost you, Bar," he said quietly as they embraced.

"I lost _myself_ for a minute there," Barry said, wiping a tear from his eye as Joe pulled away.

He looked over at Cisco then, who had his vibing goggles resting on top of his head.

"I'm so sorry, Cisco," Barry apologized, "I should have trusted you. I should have _believed_ you."

"It's okay, man," Cisco said, "That metahuman was really screwing with your mind. I understand."

Barry shook his head.

"I should have had more faith in you," he persisted, "I should have believed you over the delusion."

"Why _didn't_ you?" Cisco asked gently.

The others all looked at him, too, no doubt wondering the same thing. Barry sighed and ran a hand over his face, searching for a way to explain this to them.

"This life," he said, looking around at all of them, "It just…seemed too impossible to believe. We've seen some pretty strange things over the last two years. It just didn't seem like it could possibly be real…but it _is_ real. I really _am_ the Flash. I'm a superhero."

"Hell, yes, you are," Joe said firmly, "And a damn good one at that."

Barry laughed and smiled at him. The smile quickly slid from his face, though, as he thought of something, and it quickly became a look of misery.

"My dad really _is_ dead, isn't he?" Barry asked quietly.

The others all looked at each other, and then Caitlin nodded sadly.

"I'm so sorry, Barry," she said.

Barry felt a tear escape his eye. He couldn't rid himself of the sickening guilt in his chest. He had let the doctor convince him his dad was a murderer. He had believed it. That was the worst lie Barry had believed, and he didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive himself for it.

* * *

When Barry went home that night, things still didn't feel quite real to him. He felt as if his mind had been completely whiplashed over that last couple days and that it would take him a while to feel fully like himself again.

"Are you okay?" Joe asked him as they were sitting down for dinner.

Barry nodded and gave him a sad smile.

"Just thinking," he said quietly.

Iris gave him a questioning look, and Barry sighed shakily.

"I still feel a little detached," he said honestly, "I…that metahuman really messed with my mind. I just feel like I can never really know for sure which reality is actually _real_."

" _This_ one is real, Barry," Joe said firmly, and Iris nodded.

Barry gave him a sad smile.

"I hope so," he whispered.

Did it matter really, though? Did reality even matter? Isn't his _perception_ of reality all that truly matters? Even if this were all fake and all a delusion, why would a fake reality be any less valid than a real one? It didn't matter if it was fake or real; what mattered was his perception of it and how it made him feel.

"Cisco said that _we_ were in your dream," Iris said slowly, "What were we like there?"

Barry smiled at them.

"You were the only two people who were the same," he told them, "Everyone else was different, but you two were still my family. You were still the same Joe and Iris."

The other two smiled at him.

"I can't imagine what that all must have been like for you," Iris said, shaking her head, "Thinking you were insane and that you had imagined all of this."

Barry nodded and sighed heavily.

"The worst part about it," he said quietly, "Was that they told me my dad really _did_ kill my mom…and I…I _believed_ it."

Barry sniffed and wiped his eyes.

"After years of having unwavering faith in my dad, I let a stupid _metahuman_ convince me he was guilty," he said bitterly.

"Barry…" Joe whispered.

Barry shook his head.

"I'm never going to forgive myself for that," he said in anguish, "I feel so sick about it."

"Barry, it's not your fault," Iris said sadly, "The metahuman was messing with your _mind_. He messed with the most personal and emotional aspects of your life and your past. That would leave _anyone_ vulnerable."

Barry sighed and wiped his eyes.

"I'm just glad it wasn't true," he said quietly, "Coming back here…I feel as if I've lost my father all over again, but at least I still have an untainted memory of him here. I wish he were still alive, like he was in my dream, but at least he's not a _murderer_ in this reality."

Iris reached out and took Barry's hand in her own.

"Barry, everything's going to be okay," she said, "You're here now. You heard me calling to you, and you came home to me. You're home."

Barry gave her a sad smile.

"I'll always come home to you, Iris."

* * *

Dr. Wells massaged his damaged, bruised throat as he walked down the hallway towards the large metal door. He slowly reached up and slid open the slot on the door that allowed him to see through its window.

Barry Allen sat on the floor, dark shadows under his eyes as he rocked back and forth where he sat, donned in a strait jacket. His hair was matted and disheveled, his eyes unfocused as he muttered to himself.

" _I'll always come home to you, Iris."_

Dr. Wells observed the boy sadly. He knew for sure now; it was a lost cause.

Barry Allen was never going to recover.

* * *

 **The last part is optional. You can choice to omit it if you don't like this ending. The story is open to the reader's interpretation.**


End file.
